Even the Stars Burn Out
by munchkinsRattacking
Summary: Jim doesn't believe in no-win situations. But Spock knows better. There are some games that mere beings simply were not meant to win.


Disclaimer: Own Star Trek, I do not.

Even The Stars Burn Out

Jim Kirk is an interesting person, to say the least. He has a certain charm about him, an ability to make things right when, by all counts, they should be dreadfully wrong. He is warm and open, appreciating people for their strengths and accepting of them for their weaknesses. He is the right balance between arrogant and brash and cautious and thoughtful.

And with these qualities, he is unstoppable. A force on his own.

Invincible.

Spock has seen it, and, although for a while he thought his eyes were deceiving him, he has come to accept these qualities in his captain, even if he doesn't understand them. Diplomatic mission after diplomatic mission, battle after battle, the man rarely lost his composure and still maintained his belief that no-win situations were merely myths. Of course, Spock knows otherwise, and he merely waits for the devastating day when he can finally say 'I told you so', but in a more Vulcan manner.

At the same time, though, Spock hopes with an irrational fervor that it never has to come to that. He wants for nothing else than for his captain to be correct. For there to truly be no such thing as a no-win scenario. To believe that there really is nothing that can defeat the confident man and the crew upon the Enterprise. To know that, with James T. Kirk as their captain, his illogical invincible quality will somehow envelops the entire crew, keeping them safe as well. Or so Spock would like to believe.

But Spock knows better than to believe in hopes and dreams. They are futile and have no place in reality. And he knows that one day, Jim will come to this realization and it will crush the man. And Spock knows that it will be his own undoing as well, to an extent. For Spock, there's only one no-win scenario that he can imagine, and it leaves his warm body running cold.

For they've come close before. Too close. Yet, their close encounters in the past don't even come close to mirroring what they have just witnessed, what they have just narrowly escaped. Or, at least Spock hopes that they have escaped. It's too soon to tell.

Spock sits by Jim's side, watching the labored rise and fall of his chest. As he takes it in, his mind takes him back to the planet, back to Axanar. A peace mission gone awry, as is wont to do when the Enterprise is involved. What had started as peaceful negotiations had quickly escalated into a full blown attack. Spock closes his eyes against the images of their dead crew members, shot from the back without a warning. It was by sheer will alone that Jim had evaded the shots from enemy phasers as he grabbed Spock and pulled him forcibly from the room. It was then that it happened.

It wasn't groundbreaking, and it wasn't even truly surprising. And it certainly wasn't fitting for a person as extraordinary as Captain James T. Kirk. Regardless, the shot hit its mark and Jim felt limp against Spock as the surprise and pain registered in his eyes. Seeing red, but thinking logically, Spock proceeded out of the room and immediately called for a beam up and a medical team.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Spock and Jim were on the transporter pads, Spock supporting most, if not all of, Jim's weight. Then there was Doctor McCoy, shouting orders at the nurses. Jim was being torn from his grasp and Spock could merely stand there, staring at the blood that stained his own skin and uniform. Not his own blood, no, but a deep crimson red. Oh, how he had wished that it were a bright green instead.

And he couldn't move. Knowing that Enterprise still needed a captain, knowing that as first officer, it was now his duty to control the ship, knowing that Doctor McCoy would do all he could to save the young captain, knowing that Jim would survive, simply to laugh at Spock as he continued his foolish belief in a positive solution to all problems. And he couldn't move.

And even now, as he sits in the sickbay next to his dying friend, he is paralyzed. Paralyzed with a fear that he didn't know could exist until now, by a sorrow that overwhelms all else that he has ever known. There's not a trace of Vulcan control in his eyes, even if his face tells a different, more stoic story. Because he can see it all, replaying over and over with perfect precision.

The utter chaos in the room. The sounds of screaming as people were hit. The sound of bodies hitting the floor. The sound of blasting, destruction. The feel of Jim's hand clamped around his arm. The fear that etched into his face as he was hit. The horror that reverberated through Spock's own skull as Jim fell limp against him.

Spock sighs, grateful for his solitude in the sickbay. Doctor McCoy had been hovering around, but finally remembered that he actually had other patients. Spock doesn't blame him, as he knows of the great friendship between the two men, yet he is still relieved that the doctor has left him alone.

Because, despite all odds, he and Jim have become good friends, great friends even. They make a good team, possibly the best captain/first officer team in the entire Starfleet. They balance each other, a perfect compliment of rational and spontaneous, calmness and passion. Jim teaches Spock the importance of relaxing and simply enjoying life, and Spock reminds Jim that thinking once in a while won't be detrimental to his reputation or his ego. More importantly, though, they simply enjoy each other's company.

Spock doesn't know if Jim understands how important this is for him. Never before has he felt so accepted. As a child on Vulcan, he was singled out for his human half. Later, at the Starfleet Academy, he was ostracized for his Vulcan half. Never before has his duality been accepted, or even tolerated. And here was Jim, a loud, brash, arrogant human who was willing to, not only accept him for who he was, but to encourage him to accept himself. A foreign concept to Spock, as he had been pulled between the two worlds since birth. Yet an appreciated one all the same. Indeed, it is some of the best advice he has ever received.

Spock lowers his head to stare at his hands. Jim has helped him through so much, whether or not he was aware of the assistance that he had offered. And here is Jim, needing help, and Spock has nothing to offer. Nothing but his presence and positive feelings for the man, which, thus far, haven't helped much.

He once heard his mother say that love could heal anything. That it was one of the most powerful forces in the universe. That love could heal a broken heart, could mend a wounded soul, and could restore a dying spirit. But as Spock stares at Jim's bandaged chest, he can't help but think that sometimes that's simply not enough. Love can't cure death, plain, simple physical death. And what good is a heart or a soul or a spirit without a physical body? Love didn't save his mother or Vulcan, and, at the moment, it doesn't look like it's going to spare Jim either.

And it's unnerving to think that this might actually be it for the young captain. Jim has never gone into a mission with anything less than his everything, throwing himself into danger for the safety of other crew members, as if he were invincible, as if he could survive whatever blow the universe decided to throw at him. And Jim had been so successful, that even Spock was starting to believe that there wasn't a force in the world that could destroy the captain.

But he knows that this is foolish and wonders, in hindsight, how he had allowed himself to be convinced by Jim's facade. No one is invincible, not even James T. Kirk. Because even the stars eventually burn out. A sign that everything has its time, and everything eventually passes. No matter how brightly Jim has shined in his lifetime, one day he will slowly begin to fade and pass. No one can escape the inevitability of death. The universe won't allow it.

And Spock thinks that it's not fair. Stars have decades, sometimes centuries before they burn out. Why should James T. Kirk not be allowed the same longevity? He has more than earned the right to survive. And what kind of place would the universe be without someone like Jim doing really stupid things that always end up looking really intelligent in the end? Spock can already see the universe descending into a darkness that cannot be relieved and for an odd moment, he feels like taunting the universe for bringing about its own inevitable downfall in James T. Kirk's absence.

A sudden twitch from the bed alerts Spock to some sort of minor miracle, although, as a Vulcan, he won't classify it this way. Jim slowly blinks his eyes open and stares straight up at the ceiling.

"Captain?" Spock says softly, drawing the man's attention to himself. Jim smiles slightly and then winces at the amount of energy that it has taken him. He is not yet entirely healed and probably won't be for some time, but the fact that he is breathing and awake alleviates the oppressive feeling of helplessness in the pit of Spock's stomach.

"It's Jim, Spock," Jim corrects him wearily and Spock resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course that would be what concerns Jim after a near death experience.

"How are you feeling, _Jim_?"

The man thinks for a moment before groaning, "There aren't enough painful words in the universe to describe how I feel right now."

"I thought that..." Spock trails off, not having the courage or desire to finish that train of thought. Jim seems to know what's on Spock's mind, anyway. He always does.

"Not today, Spock," Jim smiles and closes his eyes to get more rest, muttering one last, "Not today". Spock decides it would prudent to allow him his rest and he stands up to find Doctor McCoy. He suspects he will receive a lecture for not instantly summoning him upon Jim's awakening and it will probably go something along the lines of 'Jim's my friend, dammit, you should have told me that he was awake, you cold hearted pointy eared bastard. How do you sleep at night?'.

Somehow, though, Spock imagines that he will get over it.

And as Spock walks back to his own quarters to get some much needed sleep, he reflects back onto his mother's words. Perhaps there was some truth behind them after all. While it is illogical to credit Jim's survival entirely on the 'power of love', Spock figures that there has to be some reason to fight death with the ferocity that Jim always manages. And it's probably the love that he feels for life, for the ship, and for his friends.

Jim has, once again, defeated the universe. While this thought leaves a hint of a smile on Spock's face, it brings back another bout of nerves. Because the universe doesn't lose. It can't lose. The game of life was created by the universe, and although it is possible to break the rules to extend the length of the game, it is also impossible to win said game. This is the no-win situation that will defeat Jim. Not today, apparently, but someday. Not Jim, not Doctor McCoy, not even love can beat the universe at it's own game.

The stars are evidence of this.


End file.
